I learn to read. This paper is precious, I dwell in my library of papers I daily glean. This piece is unique In all my walls of stacked treasure Though each bit is dear. The words, the creases are shaped and are stories My hand can hold. These esses and queues Gracelessly brood cosmic secrets. We are in a museum Of jars and of cans and of containers. We live in a storehouse of the story of the world. The glass and the metal and the paper Express the marriage of cultures That changed their raw sources Of disparate places and feelings For chop suey dishes, ragout jars and pork and bean cans. Each word is a vein of ore. If I ever forget time I will fold each scripture Into one body's armature. I will make a giant of papier mache Now formless and only in my mind Who will be a terrible bearer And my cabinets of empty jars And my stacks of takeout containers And my chains of chewing gum wrappers Will be bones and baggage and bridle and bit. He will be my magic mount Who will take me to the City of God And drop me just this side of Wisdom's edge.